


Carried Away

by TheButterflySings



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheButterflySings/pseuds/TheButterflySings





	Carried Away

“We’re introducing a new act tonight,” Tony announced at large to his employees before opening Friday night. Until that point in the weekly mandatory staff meeting, no one had really been paying attention. Tony and Bruce were on the stage where people performed, Tony doing all the talking as usual, and Bruce standing there, nodding along as they covered the same things they covered every other week. So of course, no one bothered to pay them any attention. Natasha and Clint had been engrossed in their own conversation for the first ten minutes of the meeting, sitting back by the bar and talking about Clint’s lack of a love life.

But the announcement of a new act had everyone looking up in interest. It wasn’t often that Tony and Bruce hired on new acts for the show. The last had been the introduction of Loki Laufeyson, who was only hired due to his brother, Thor Odinson, who had been employed prior to that point. And that had been nearly two years ago. They had a small, yet skilled staff, and Tony didn’t often feel the need to reach out and hire more.

Assets, a popular little club owned by Tony Stark, was a highlight of the Manhattan area. It was, for all intents and purposes, a strip club, though it had a proper title that stopped it from sounding so seedy. The four acts that were already employed at the club-- Steve Rogers, James “Bucky” Barnes, Thor Odinson, and Loki Laufeyson-- had managed to bring in a large, and very steady crowd every night. Add in three skilled bartenders in Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, and James Rhodes, and two small but powerful security guards, Natasha Romanoff and Maria Hill, and the club staff was well-known, well-respected, and well-liked. Tony’s fiancee, Pepper, ran everything behind the scenes, and that kept the company running without a hitch.

“Who is this new hire?” Bucky was finally the one to ask, breaking the silence caused by Tony’s declaration. He was sitting in one of the chairs by a table in the back corner of the room with Steve, and they’d been engrossed in their own conversation, too, looking every bit like the happy couple that they were. 

“His name is Pietro Maximoff. He’s Sokovian. Pepper took care of all the hiring. She has much better judgement than me.”

“Well, we won’t disagree with that one,” Clint snorted, and pointedly ignored the look that Natasha gave him. He did wish that his friend would stop trying to set him up with people. Just because she was dating his fellow bartender, Sam, didn’t mean she had to try and set him up, too. He hadn’t fallen for one of the strippers yet-- aside from a very brief thing with Loki that he didn’t talk about-- and none of his relationships before had lasted. He wasn’t going to rush into another relationship that wasn’t going to work out.

He tuned out of the discussion after that, though, because it didn’t matter to him. He was a bartender. It was his job to make sure that the people who came into the club got their drinks and paid for them and didn’t get so drunk they started trying to touch the performers. He wasn’t interested in the new hire. So he got to work cleaning the bar down and getting ready for opening.

As it always was, Assets was packed within ten minutes of opening. He was manning the bar with Sam that night, which was always a good night. They talked about Natasha when they talked, who was pretty much their one thing in common. Natasha had been Clint’s friend long before she’d been Sam’s girlfriend. Sometimes, they talked about sports or videogames. He was easy to hold a conversation with, and his sarcasm matched Clint’s. So it worked.

“Steve’s up first tonight,” Sam was saying, motioning towards the stage, and Clint laughed. He didn’t make a habit of watching Steve’s performances. Or Bucky’s, for that matter, as the two were so weirdly jealous of each other, a factor they probably should have ditched when they became strippers.

“Yeah, he usually is,” Clint replied, handing a patron the Earthquake cocktail that she had ordered, a drink that was three parts Absinthe and three parts Cognac, a nice little drink that would shake the drinker up real quick. “Is Bucky standing by the stage?”

 

“Yep,” Sam chuckled in response, and the two went back to making drinks in peace.

Steve Rogers had adopted a cute little “Captain America” gimmick that contained Star-Spangled booty shorts. Clint really would have paid money to have never seen that man in booty shorts, but he certainly had the body to pull them off. He was well-built and worked out everyday, and he knew he looked good, worked it to his advantage. Clint could see what Bucky saw in Steve. Even beyond his looks, the man was noble, hard-working, kind, and brave, despite his habit of expecting the world to always follow him. Clint got along well with Steve most of the time.

“Can I get a gin and tonic?” a thickly accented voice asked, and Clint looked up-- and might have stared a little bit.

At first glance, the boy who spoke was nothing special. And then Clint really took him in. His hair was bleached blonde, with dark roots. Electric blue eyes stood out in a ruggedly handsome face, and a cocky, surefire smirk turned up pretty pink lips. He was tall and lean, though he looked not much older than nineteen. Clint almost wanted to ask for ID, though he knew everyone was ID’d on entry into the club.

“Uh, yeah,” Clint muttered, pulling himself out of his head. “Sure thing.” He got to work preparing the drink, pouring ice into a highball glass, and then pouring gin and tonic water over it. He garnished it with a lime wedge and passed the glass to the patron.

“You seem out of it, old man,” the boy said, his voice taking on a cool, cocky tone as he tossed the drink back. Clint raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not that old,” he scoffed in response. “You don’t even look old enough to be in here, kid. Don’t push your look, or I’ll have Natasha escort you out.” He smiled to show that he was just teasing. He didn’t want the kid to leave. He was actually-- well, pretty, was the only word for it. Pretty blue eyes and tanned skin and a lean body-- Clint actually wanted to see what that body looked like under the shirt. And he didn’t think like that about customers very often.

“You would not kick me out,” the customer said with an air of finality. “Thank you for the drink, old man. I have to be somewhere now.” And just like that, the boy was standing up and walking away. Clint watched him go with a frown, before turning to serve the next customer.

He wasn’t disappointed, not really. He didn’t expect anything out of it. Sure, chances were the boy was probably gay-- why else would he be in a male strip club? But Clint hadn’t even caught his name. He hadn’t expected anything to come out of it. It had just been a nice little thought. And Natasha would have been happy to see it happen. But he wasn’t disappointed.

Bucky took the stage next, adopting his ‘Winter Soldier’ persona. Which Clint didn’t really understand-- black leather pants and a combat vest and a mask over his eyes with another over his mouth-- but it was a vastly popular act. Bucky was another Clint got along with really well. He was sarcastic and funny, charming, despite a brooding exterior. He and Clint had talked for hours without realizing how much time had passed. 

“Think Natasha and Maria might have to play peacekeepers tonight,” Sam called over the music that went with Bucky’s act. He pointed to the stage with the hand that wasn’t passing someone a drink. “Some people getting kind of rowdy.”

“They always do,” Clint yelled back. “They won’t intervene until they actually get handsy.”

That was the rule. Don’t touch the performers. You could look, but unless you paid for a private dance, something that only the brothers provided, hands were to remain off at all times. Clint could respect that. They needed their personal space, too. That brought up another thought in Clint’s mind.

“Hey, Sam. If there’s a new act tonight, are neither of the brothers performing?”

“Just private dances tonight, I think,” Sam replied. He shrugged. “I don’t think it bothers them much. You know how much Loki loves his private dances.”

Clint did know, from personal experience, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. He just shook his head and continued to do his job. Bucky’s act finished, and the lights on the stage went down. Clint’s interest spiked a little bit. This would be the new act that Tony had told them about. He had to at least watch part of it.

His jaw hit the floor.

It was the kid from the bar. The kid who’d come up and ordered a gin and tonic was Pietro Maximoff, the new hire. He didn’t seem to have much of a theme, as far as Clint could tell. He was in a tight blue bodysuit, but that bodysuit showed off every inch of his tall, lean body, and Clint couldn’t help but stare. The music started, and Pietro started to move, and Clint was gone. He wasn’t the best dancer, but he was comfortable in his skin, and that was obvious by the little half-smirk on his lips and the way those bright blue eyes pierced the crowd. 

And when he started to strip, Clint had throw his rag down onto the bar and take a minute. Telling Sam he’d be right back, Clint left the bar and slipped into the bathroom. He’d wanted to see what was under the shirt Pietro had been wearing, and he’d gotten to see it-- all lean muscle and tanned skin, and the kid was attractive as hell. And that, that was going to be a problem. Clint couldn’t let himself feel anything for a stripper. He had a code, and that just wasn’t in it. 

Cursing his luck, Clint went back to the bar and continued to do his job with as much focus as he could.

When the club closed for the night and Nat and Maria had finally forced everyone out and got the doors locked, Clint and Sam were left at the bar to finish cleaning up. As much as Clint was hoping he wouldn’t ask, Sam finally stopped and looked at him.

“You were staring at the kid.”

Clint exhaled a sigh and went back to washing the leftover glasses from the night. “He’s new. Everyone was staring at him,” he pointed out. “I’m not hooking up with a stripper, Sam. You’re as bad as Natasha.”

“What’s so bad about hooking up with a stripper?” came Bucky’s voice from the other end of the room. He and Steve had stayed to help finish sweeping and mopping the floor, and Clint was grateful for that. He was tired. He wasn’t grateful for the running commentary that would go with.

“Nothing, if said stripper is your boyfriend,” Clint answered, staring pointedly at Bucky and Steve. “But dating a stripper isn’t something I see working out for me. I couldn’t keep a steady relationship with someone who didn’t put their body on display every night.” Not to mention he’d already done the no-strings-attached sex with a stripper once, and that hadn’t gone so well for him, either. He didn’t want to think about it.

“He’s a good kid,” Steve shrugged, and really, if everyone had picked up on Clint’s watching Pietro that night, Clint was going to kill himself. Or quit. “He’s got one hell of a mouth, Clint.”

“Yeah, he does,” Bucky agreed. “Puts even your smartas to shame.”

“Language,” Steve scolded, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need to know,” he replied offhandedly, but the conversation was cut off then when the door to the back, where the dressing rooms and Tony and Bruce’s offices were, swung open. Pietro walked shyly into the bar area, dressed casually now in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, his white-blonde hair messy and unorganized. 

“Did you need any help?” he asked softly, his accent soft and barely there in the quietness of his voice. He was looking straight at Clint, like the other three weren’t in the room.

Clint cleared his throat and forced himself to look away. “No, we don’t need any help,” he answered. “We’ve got his covered. Thanks, though.” He pretended not to notice Pietro’s petulant little frown.

“I would like to speak to you,” Pietro persisted, tilting his head towards the back door. He put one hand on the doorknob and gave Clint a very pointed look. “Will you come talk to me?”

Ignoring the wolf-whistles and smirks that came from his friends, Clint set down the rag he’d been using to dry out the glasses and followed Pietro into the back. They paused outside one of the dressing rooms, and Pietro turned around, hands on his hips, as he stared Clint down.

“I saw you watching me,” the kid said firmly. “And I saw you walk away. Did you not enjoy--”

“Woah, okay, wait,” Clint cut in. “Why are we-- Are you offended that I walked away? You don’t even know me.”

“Clint Barton,” Pietro argued. “Stark told me. He told me that you were kinder to newcomers than the others, but once you found out that I worked here, you stopped being kind. Did I offend you? Did you not enjoy the show? I saw you most of the night and wanted to talk to you because, when Stark told me that you were /nice/, I did not also expect you to be attractive.”

Clint’s head was spinning. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone so forward with what they thought. Even Stark, who probably never held back what he was thinking, ever, was not so blunt in his words. And, attractive? That was a new one. Clint had never been called attractive by one of his coworkers before.

“Attractive,” Clint repeated meekly, unable to force his brain to process words.

“Yes. You didn’t see that coming?”

Clint rolled his eyes. He could see what Bucky meant by ‘smartass’ now. “I didn’t think you would find someone you call old man attractive.”

“The old man does not look so old… And has an attractive face. Do you not feel the same for me?”

Pietro looked almost hurt by that fact, and Clint had to remedy that, because sad did not suit those pretty blue eyes at all. “No, I… I do. You’re… yeah, you’re attractive. It’s just… I’ve done the whole… meaningless sex with a stripper thing before,” Clint explained blankly, and he didn’t know why he was telling a kid he barely knew about this, when he hadn’t even told Natasha. “I’m not a fan.”

“Who said it would be meaningless?” Pietro shot back, looking stunned. “I am not a fan of things that are meaningless, old man. It would have meaning. Because I am a stripper does not make me… a slut.” He seemed to wrestle with the word, his eyes hardening. “I became stripper to take care of my sister and myself after the death of our parents.” His accent got thicker with agitation, and Clint felt a whole array of emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know. There’s a lot we don’t know about each other. Maybe we could… fix that. Over dinner.”

“I would like that,” Pietro replied softly, his mouth curving into a wide smile, and that, that suited him much better. Clint nodded, something like hope igniting in his veins. It wasn’t really his thing, to date a stripper, but maybe he could take a chance. It would be worth the ‘I told you so’ from Natasha when he told her.

They made plans for dinner on their next day off, and Clint went home to his apartment in peace, feeling lighter than he had in years. Sometimes, things actually worked out for the better. 

He hadn’t seen that coming.


End file.
